My best friend J. and I often take inspiration from a curious little fellow who features prominently in children’s literature.
There’s a Tao of Pooh and a Te of Piglet. One day, perhaps, I shall write the Zen of Eeyore.
I love Eeyore. I never had—and therefore have difficulty relating to—the implacable innocence of Pooh, the tremulous anxiety of Piglet and the relentless ebullience of Tigger. But I’ve had (and continue to have) spades of Eeyore’s chronic moroseness.
The fact that he plods steadily along, regardless, is what I draw consolation from. Everyday heroism correlates directly with effort, and when I look at Eeyore, I figure he has to make a helluva’n effort.
(It doesn’t help that his home on the map of the Hundred Acre Wood is labeled Eeyore’s Gloomy Place: Rather Boggy and Sad.)
So today, precisely because I haven’t had to rely on his grayish variety of consolation as much, I salute Eeyore.
May his steady, plodding force be with you.